The Long Road
by kai-li-beautifulsuccess
Summary: When Cas shows up in the middle of Texas and doesn't leave, he has some explaining to do.


Title: The Long Road

Author: kai-li-beautifulsuccess

Disclaimer: I do not own SPN, the characters, or anything relating to SPN.

Summary: When Cas shows up in the middle of Texas and doesn't leave, he has some explaining to do.

Author's Note: Written for the lj community, comment_fic, prompt "This is what it means to be human, Cas. It means feeling small and afraid sometimes. It ain't easy, and it sure as hell ain't beautiful. But you go on because you've gotta. So get used to it. This is you now." With the following picture added - (.net/software/WallPaper/The%20Long%20Road%) This lovely prompt was given by the awesome pyrebi. 

Driving was something Dean loved to do. He couldn't wait to sit back in his baby, tunes rocking in the background (and sometimes oh so much louder for Sammy's sake), windows open, and the smell of a car well taken care of settled about him. When Cas would quietly show up, he also enjoyed the moments of confusion, partial comprehension, and general comments of obvious observations along the ride - Yes, Cas, there are a lot of oil drills in Oklahoma. I'm guessing they don't think calling them grasshoppers is funny, just something they do. -

After Cas lost his mojo, though, he noticed changes happening. For one thing, Cas didn't just pop in and out like he used to. Instead, he joined them on one leg of the journey and then decided to stay. There were moments when he would talk, but more often than not, he stared at Dean's ear (the headrest obscuring most of his head) and let the brothers joke or argue or ignore one another in peace. The few times he did open his mouth, Sam would jump or Dean would come centimeters away from driving through a barb wire fence and into a cow.

Dean ignored it at first. He tried harder than normal not to make snide or ridiculous comments, but eventually he couldn't stand it any longer. The car stopped, the music muted, and the Dean turned to the man in the backseat with a quiet sigh.

"Dude, seriously. What is up with you?"

The blank stare that answered his question had been completely expected, but that did not mean he was any happier about it.

"Usually you come and go like an absent father. With something important to say. You've barely said two words since you showed up, and you're still here. What's the deal, Cas?"

"I..." Tension built in Cas's body, visibly puffing the slumped shoulders up, trying for an outlet. "I have nothing to say. If you and Sam would prefer, I can find other activities to occupy my time."

Dean turned back to the road, his eyes still seeing the strange expression staring out at him from Cas's shocking baby blues. Texas roads were all the same, long stretches of parched fields and listless cows. The road ribboned in predictable patterns, falling out of sight along the horizon, county road signs peppered in hap-hazardous intervals.

Sam muttered quietly to himself, ignoring the other passengers as he stared out the window. When Dean gave him a questioning look, he sheepishly replied, "In the past hour, we have passed at least 748 telephone poles and 36 grasshoppers. I'm pretty sure there were more grasshoppers, but counting both of them got confusing." Dean's mouth literally dropped open, eyes glossing over for a moment. "What? You asked; Cas hemmed; you'll ask again; he'll haw; you'll yell at him and then you'll talk like a thirteen year old girl and her mother and everything will be fine. Texas is boring, but I didn't want to forget my numbers. Carry on."

It took a moment for Cas to pipe in, but finally he couldn't stop himself. "I don't understand, Sam. What is hemmed and haw?"

"Don't worry about it, Cas. Just tell Dean what's wrong so we can go kill something evil. I'm tired of Texas."

"Thirteen year old girl?"

"You too, Dean. Deal with Cas, not me."

"But-"

"Cas, Dean. Not me."

An armadillo ambled lazily in front of them, stopping to sniff at something on the road. Hands scrubbed at his stubbled face as he tried to think of how to proceed when a car sped by, throwing the armadillo to the side of the road, its protective shell cracked and oozing blood.

"I'm falling, Dean. I'm not quite finished, but it's happening so fast I can't wrap my head around it. But, up there, it's taking hundreds of years. I don't know what to do."

Dean couldn't answer, fascinated by the armadillo and Cas's words, fingers carefully keeping his face in place.

"I don't think he heard me." The words are plaintive, quietly resigned.

"Humans have to do something called processing, Cas. Keep going."

"I can't go back. I can't go anywhere anymore. Colors are different. Your human eyes can't see what's really worth seeing. I feel so much I didn't before, but it hurts. How do you do it all the time?"

More face scrubbing, a muffled groan, closed eyes to ignore hope and sadness and pity. Dean's body jolts up the moment sausage fingers dig into his ribs, his 'little' brother's mutter of "Answer him" lost in the enormity of the moment. A deep breath, screwing up his courage and another moment to actually think before speaking.

"This is what it means to be human, Cas. It means feeling small and afraid sometimes. It ain't easy, and it sure as hell ain't beautiful. But you go on because you've gotta. So get used to it. This is you now." Another rib poke, followed by a glaring eye half-hidden by shaggy hair. "That isn't all, though. There are things that help. For example, I think we can all agree driving through Texas sucks. But, the road doesn't end there. If we keep going, we could even hit up New Orleans. Even you must have heard of New Orleans and how great it is, Cas? Don't answer that, you might break my heart. That isn't the point, though."

He looks back at Cas again, his eyes mostly hollow but the edges starting to gain solidity.

"The point is that we try. We try hard and harder. You find the few people you can count on and you hold on to them. You take what you can get, and you let the rest slide off your back."

The engine roared to life again, the music blared, and the man in the back once again stared at a delicately shaped shell of ear. Quietly, under the blasting of Kansas, Sam smiled the words, "That'll do, pig; that'll do."


End file.
